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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147206">Shopping Bags</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bard/pseuds/Bard'>Bard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Azumanga Daioh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:33:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bard/pseuds/Bard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All Nyamo wanted was a simple, peaceful, all you can eat dinner. But peaceful is not in Yukari's vocabulary.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shopping Bags</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeperservice/gifts">sleeperservice</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yukari was late.</p>
<p>That, in itself, was not unusual. Annoying, yes, but unusual, no. What was unusual was what she was late <i>for</i>. Tavern Mita was Yukari’s favorite izakaya, Nyamo was (grudgingly) buying, and they’d scored a two hour all you can eat and drink package. It wasn’t like Yukari to miss one minute of unlimited food or alcohol, much less fifteen of them. Especially on Christmas. Especially when she didn’t have to pay.</p>
<p>Nyamo sighed into her sake and tried to distract herself with the ambiance. As one of the oldest izakaya in Shinuku, Tavern Mita usually had an atmosphere you could call “comfortably dingy.” Not gross or anything, just grubby, with the faded walls and smoky air you could only get from decades of bottomless beers and binchotan chicken skins. Tonight, however, its traditional decor had been supplanted. Apparently the owner (or one of his kids, Nyamo guessed) had decided that, even if extra holiday traffic was nil, the tavern had to get into the spirit of the season. Instead of the smoke-stained walls and dim lighting Nyamo was used to, Tavern Mita’s interior was lit like, and resembled, a Christmas tree. Fraser fir boughs from god knows where lined every inch of scenery and tinsel hung from anything convex. Cheap boughs and cheap tinsel, judging by how many fake pine needles and tinsel flakes were collected on the ground. Nyamo pushed some around under the table with her feet and wondered whether she could order an all you could eat buffet to go. Where <i>was--</i></p>
<p>A towering mass of shopping bags made its way into the tavern, wobbled in a half-circle as if looking for something, and then stopped. If bags had eyes, Nyamo could swear they’d all settled on her.</p>
<p>“Oiiiii! Nyamo!” </p>
<p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p>
<p>The blob of consumerism shuffled toward her, messy black hair fluffing out around the top of the pile. “Help me with these?” Before Nyamo could scold herself, she was on her feet and reaching out, taking bag after bag until the talking shopping cart turned into a laughing Yukari. Nyamo couldn’t help but notice one bag’s contents as she set it down beside the table. She pulled out a slim box labeled PSP.</p>
<p>“For your students, I hope?” </p>
<p>Yukari, halfway into her seat, jumped back to her feet and yanked the console out of Nyamo’s hands. “Of course not! Who do you think I am, Santa Claus?” She tapped the box against her chest and grinned. “I was doing some last minute gift shopping in Ginza--”</p>
<p>“For yourself,” Nyamo muttered, sinking back into her chair.</p>
<p>“--and I happened to see these beauties on clearance. A mint condition PSP with five top-rated games, all for ten thousand yen! And hey, here’s something incredible.” Yukari thumped into the chair across from Nyamo and leaned in, lowering her voice. “Did you know you can plug this thing into your computer and make it play video games from twenty years ago? They call it...” In dramatic English, she continued, “<i>Em-u-la-tion!</i>”</p>
<p>“Really?” Despite herself, Nyamo was curious. “How does it work?”</p>
<p>Yukari gave her a look like she’d just asked for an explanation of open-heart surgery. “How should I know? I overheard Sasahara from class 3-B talking about it. I’m gonna make him set it up for me.”</p>
<p>“Figures.” Nyamo poured a fresh glass of sake, held it in front of her until Yukari reached for it, then snatched it back and drank half of it in one gulp. The despairing look she got in return was very satisfying. “Honestly, Yukari, I shouldn’t even share this buffet with you.” She filled Yukari’s drink and slid over the bottle. “Making me wait so you could buy video games?”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t looking for video games,” Yukari muttered, then proceeded to slam back her entire glass in one gulp. She poured another cup, passed the bottle back, and spoke without looking up from the all-you-can-eat menu. “They just found me. I was buying something else.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Nyamo leaned over to look at the bags, frowning at the contents. Video games. Candy. Two bottles of fancy daiginjo. A memory foam pillow just like the one Yukari had borrowed and ruined (it figured that Yukari wouldn’t even give that to her for Christmas). Christmas spirit wasn’t in this particular English teacher’s vocabulary. “So, you got yourself a present while you were getting yourself presents.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t--<i>oi!</i> Mr. Bartender!” The bartender, caught halfway back from the bathroom to his post, did credit to his profession and declined to throw anything at Nyamo’s dining partner. Yukari, not realizing the enormity of her fortune, took a moment to look over the menu, then proceeded to order two of everything included in their package. Casting a glance at Nyamo, she amended her order to four of each. “And kotsuzake for each of us, too!”</p>
<p>Nyamo rummaged in her toolkit for one of the many disgusted faces she’d learned to make around her highschool friend turned coworker. “Fishbone sake? How can you drink that stuff?”</p>
<p>Yukari didn’t even look at her. She was already reaching for a plate of chicken cartilage a hapless waiter hadn’t even finished bringing to the table. “You mean how can we, and the answer is easily! Where’s your Japanese pride? Kotsuzake embodies our thrifty, creative spirit! And it’s four hundred yen cheaper on weeknights!”</p>
<p>“Four hundred yen cheaper? Why would that matter, we already paid--” She frowned down at the menu, scanning prices, then glared across the table. “Yukari! Kotsuzake isn’t included in the package! Just drink normal sake like a normal person!” But it was too late. The not-so-hapless waiter had seized the chance to make some extra yen, plopping down two giant bottles of expensive, savory, <i>strong</i> sake. They loomed like torpedoes over everything else on the table (including the bottle of ginjo Nyamo had already opened). </p>
<p>Even Yukari looked worried. “W-well, actually, maybe we could just get a glass, to see if we like it--” But the waiter, apparently struck deaf, opened both with a broad smile and disappeared from whence he came.</p>
<p>They stared. 3600 milliliters of high-proof sake stared back.</p>
<p>Yukari didn’t say anything. She just ate half a plate of gyoza, pushed the rest toward Nyamo, and grabbed the closest bottle. The look in her eyes was something between apologetic and competitive.</p>
<p><i>Well.</i> Nyamo finished the rest of her glass and grabbed the bottle. <i>If that’s the way it has to be? Fine.</i></p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Nyamo was not going to throw up. Throwing up was Yukari’s responsibility. </p>
<p>And Yukari was doing a good job. In a dizzy way, Nyamo felt proud of her friend: even now, trying to puke into what seemed to Nyamo like the biggest garbage can in Shinjuku, Yukari managed to miss it entirely with every retch. Her wrongness was so thorough it boomeranged back around into a kind of brilliance. But then, that was Yukari in general. Doing things wrong was her superpower. Send her back in time and ask her to stop Chernobyl, she’d probably invent a new, worse kind of meltdown heretofore unknown to science. She’d spill coffee on the buttons, assure the scientists she knew what she was doing, and cause an explosion that winked out the planet like a Christmas light.</p>
<p><i>Christmas?</i> Nyamo staggered to her feet--not sure when she’d sat down--and took stock. It was Christmas, wasn’t it? It had to be. That was the only reason she hadn’t murdered Yukari yet. Yukari, who’d been late to the dinner she’d demanded Nyamo set up. Yukari, who’d stood her up to go shopping. Yukari, who insisted on ladling two magnums of sake into their bodies on top of the beer, wine and whiskey they already had to drink to make the package worth it.</p>
<p>Yukari, who was crying. </p>
<p>Not cry-puking. Nyamo had seen that plenty of times. Not crying Womanly Tears over the incoherent future of Japanese education, not weeping through a terrible Stevie Nicks karaoke session.  Just...crying. Then looking up with red, puffy eyes as Nyamo approached.</p>
<p>“Yukari? Are you…”</p>
<p>“I lost one of my bags.” Yukari nodded toward the pile of shopping bags which Nyamo thought--even in her up-is-down-black-is-white state--looked exactly the same size it had earlier that night. “I waited so long to get that stuff and now it’s gone.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Well, that figured. If Yukari could get truly upset over anything, it would be the PSP she bought on a lark. Nyamo put a hand on her shoulder, half to comfort Yukari and half to steady herself. “Hey, it’s not so bad. You still have all those other things you got for yourself, right?”</p>
<p>“Myself?!” Yukari whirled around and yanked Nyamo toward her, which was a bad idea. Both of them ended up on the ground with scuffed palms and sore butts. Still, she managed to look indignant, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Who the hell do you think I am?”</p>
<p>Nyamo gave her a flat look. “Santa Claus?”</p>
<p>“The hell with him!” Yukari sneered. “That fat idiot gives out garbage! What do you think I was buying in Ginza, <i>candy and video games?</i>”</p>
<p>Nyamo shuffled forward, grabbing Yukari by her collar. She yanked her head toward the pile of shopping bags. “Look at this! You <i>were</i> buying candy and video games!”</p>
<p>“YEAH!” Yukari shouted, flailing. The tears were back. “But only after I got stuff for YOU!”</p>
<p>“What?” Nyamo’s grip loosened. </p>
<p>That was a mistake. Without Nyamo holding them up, both slammed sideways onto the shopping bags. Yukari covered her mouth and tried not to hurl from the new rush of vertigo; Nyamo tried not to land on any bags (and cursed their existence at the same time). They lay there for a while, Nyamo processing, Yukari catching her breath. Then, abruptly, Yukari sat up and pointed toward the middle of the street.</p>
<p>“Oh, there it is! Nyamo, I must have dropped it as we walked out, we can just--”</p>
<p>Nyamo caught one long, glorious glimpse of the fancy sake and replacement pillow before a passing cab turned the entire bag into a mess of crushed foam and shattered glass. Yukari looked at the remains, then at her friend, clearly trying not to cry. The effect was ruined a little by the giant floof of memory foam that landed in Yukari’s hair.</p>
<p>“The pillow’s very popular,” Yukari said.</p>
<p>“Right.” Nyamo, through great effort, managed to sit up.</p>
<p>“I waited in line for it forever.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>“Maybe we can wash it?”</p>
<p>Another cab came by. More floof, wetter now, landed on Yukari’s head, and the grief in her eyes slowly transformed into the rage Nyamo had known for the majority of her life. Watching that indignance return was a relief. Watching Yukari totter to her feet, on the other hand, was a surprise, and Nyamo struggled to follow her as she staggered after the cab.</p>
<p>“OI!”</p>
<p>“Yukari!”</p>
<p>“You ruined my friend’s present!”</p>
<p>“Yu-<i>ka</i>-ri!”</p>
<p>“YOU’RE MESSING WITH SANTA CLAAAAUUUUS!”</p>
<p>Nyamo tackled Yukari. They collapsed again, both laughing, and stared up at the sky. After a while, Yukari reached for--and, not meeting any resistance, took--Nyamo’s hand. </p>
<p>“Nyamo.”</p>
<p>“Mm?”</p>
<p>“You know you’re my friend, right?”</p>
<p>Nyamo lolled her head to stare at Yukari and was surprised to realize her eyes were blurred with tears. She smiled. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Am I--am I a good friend?”</p>
<p>Nyamo considered the question. Her smile became a grin.</p>
<p>“No. You’re not.” She watched the look on Yukari’s face go from happiness to a combination of shock and anger, then continued: “But you will be, if you give me the PSP.”</p>
<p>Yukari considered the offer. Her frown became a poorly-disguised smile. “Fine, but I get to play whenever I want.”</p>
<p>“Not until you bring me another pillow.”</p>
<p>“Aww, Nyamo!” Yukari grabbed Nyamo’s cheeks and stretched, squealing when Nyamo did the same to her, both of them rolling back and forth and arguing and laughing their heads off.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://japanese-wiki-corpus.github.io/culture/Kotsuzake.html">Kotsuzake</a> is a real thing, combining the savory nature of grilled fishbones with the sweet booziness of sake. I haven't tried it myself, but the moment I can hit up my closest izakaya, I'm going to.</p>
<p>Happy Holidays!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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